


king of bats

by apotheosizing



Category: Fallen London | Echo Bazaar
Genre: Card Games, Friends Who Slay Together Stay Together, Gen, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-19
Updated: 2020-09-19
Packaged: 2021-03-04 18:54:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,417
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25221220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/apotheosizing/pseuds/apotheosizing
Summary: As the Second City falls, two of its orchestrators play a friendly game.
Relationships: Mr Apples | Mr Hearts & Mr Veils
Kudos: 12
Collections: Press Start VI





	king of bats

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TrashyTime](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TrashyTime/gifts).



> This is set during the time of the negotiations for the Second City so I've gone with the titles Lord of Blood for Hearts and Lord of Silks for Veils. I believe these are technically their Second City names but they're the best I've got.

Starlight alighted on the streets of what was to be the Second City. It pooled in divots in the stonework of the city’s streets and painted the night in chiaroscuro. Few residents of the city walked through the streets in these late hours, when torchlight beat back feebly at the darkness.

Silent but for the disturbance of air caused by wingbeats, the Lord of Silks prowled the skies in an ill-tempered haze. With each wretched turn of the planet in the grasp of its sun, the Lord of Silks increasingly despised these brief excursions to the surface.

When the Masters of the Bazaar had come down from the stars to strike the deal for the First City, a flight under the stars had been exhilarating. Beneath the light of the suns, it could feel the echoes of grand hunts in its bones and the promise that it would regain its proper place in the High Wilderness buoyed it up into the heights of the darkness.

Years of imprisonment in that accursed cavern beneath the earth had worn its hopes against the grindstone of time ‘til it spoiled to bitterness. The mocking twinkling of the stars became too much, driving it to land at the window of the wing it shared with its fellow ambassador. The Lord of Blood had been chosen to accompany it above to open negotiations with the pharaoh and the Lord of Silks had found it thus far unobjectionable. They had the same bloody-mindedness, but where its affable manner was draped across its shoulders like an ill-fitting cloak, the Lord of Blood had a spark of genuine amusement that softened its dealings with the humans. It treated it all like a game to which it held the cards without the air of condescension that bled into the Lord of Silks’ voice.

Softly, it landed on the polished floor of the palace, taking a faint satisfaction in the scrapes that marred the marble’s perfection where talons met the layer of wax that protected it. “Back so soon, my dear?” A pair of eyes - little more than two pinpricks of light in the dark - danced with mirth beneath the Lord of Blood’s hood as it stepped into view. “Have you soured on these moments of freedom so quickly? We are bound to our task for six more cities.”

The Lord of Silks drew its robe about its shoulders with a huff of annoyance. “Five, if we do our job.” It stalked past its fellow Master with a mind to retire for the evening. A clawed hand stopped it short.

“Would you join me for a game? Our custodian is growing despondent and I have been thinking we might set him a game to win what his heart desires. Have you seen the games the people of this city play? Fascinating, truly.” It withdrew a neat set of tiles from the depths of its robe in indication.

“I am not interested in allowing you to toy with me,” it returned.

The Lord of Blood laughed, an airy sound that grated against the Lord of Silks’ nerves. “I would do no such thing. We are allies, are we not, my dear?”

“Perhaps. But we are not friends.” All the same, it did not move to leave.

“We never will be, if you refuse to spend time in my company.” There was a flash of teeth that glinted in the moonlight. “Think of it this way, you stand to gain more tonight by indulging me than by brooding alone in your chambers. I have heard whispers among the pharaoh’s court that might interest you.”

The implications of its words were wielded like a knife held at the Lord of Silks’ heart. Undeniably the calculating gaze of Ankhesenamun had carried far more weight to the servants of the Courier than had her terms for the city under the horizon of the Aten. It caved in to the veiled demand with the begrudging words, “After you.”

The Lord of Blood, triumphant, turned from the sill to usher the Lord of Silks to its chamber. It was richly appointed in madder red, the bed at the head of the room untouched as its own. Two chairs had been placed at opposite ends of the central table in a manner that spoke plainly to the premeditation the Lord of Blood had downplayed in its offer. The Lord of Silks seated itself and gestured expectantly for the game to begin.

Each tile was smooth as the scales of the dragons above, reminding it of the feeling of tearing through to the flesh with tooth and claw, and emblazoned with a word in the Correspondence. The Lord of Silks turned one in mottled blue over in its hands, the scorching words of _the altar stone of an abandoned temple_ burning under its touch.

Throwing back its hood, the Lord of Blood placed down _an unmappable direction_ in the space between them, followed by the _memory of a memory_. “Have you found this new hunting ground to be to your taste?” The Lord of Silks stilled for a moment, a snarl of annoyance building in its throat, before something shifted in its eyes.

It countered with _the secret spoken plainly_ , much to its opponent’s amusement. “We talk so much of my exploits. What of yours?” Behind closed doors, the Lord of Silks always shed the pitch-perfect decorum and spoke candidly; its choice to instead adopt the old sugar-spun tone and alter the stakes of play would delight the Lord of Blood.

As it intended, its companion’s eyes flashed with understanding. “Why, I have been admiring the city’s markets. So many new profits to be made! I spied a few that even you might have interest in.” The more traditional hunting ground of the marketplace was nauseatingly familiar to the Lord of Silks and it abhorred the concept beneath the stars as much as it had between them. 

It twisted its snout into a bland smile. “Perhaps.” The Lord of Blood set down several tiles that together spoke of _great chains of freedom_ and _queens behind mirrors with blood on your hands_. It was a poor hand, by the conventions of the game. 

The Lord of Silks played the first several lines of the Tragedy Procedures, prompting the Lord of Blood to remark upon it into the reigning silence. “Impatient, aren’t we? It has always been your chiefest flaw.”

“I was promised something of interest. Thus far, you have not provided anything matching that description,” it rejoined.

The Lord of Blood pressed a gloved claw to its chest in mimicry of heartbreak, a gesture at odds with the look of amusement that had not dimmed in its eyes since the game’s beginning. “Let me entice you then. Your evening flights have not gone unnoticed. One of the sisters - the fourth - has taken notice. I’m sure I don’t need to tell you that her elder sister drives a hard bargain. If it comes up, we would have to let you take the fall.”

It rarely took care in its returns to the palace, dried blood staining its cloak, having estimated the gaze of the servants to be of little consequence. It could have missed the presence of a cleverer fieldmouse among those faces, the ever-folly of a hunter when it came to prey. With a lack of understanding, it ventured a guess at the conclusion of the Lord of Blood’s thoughts. “And you would prefer they not have another weapon in their possession?”

“I would. And… we are friends. It would be remiss to lose one so soon into our exile.” The Lord of Silks stared uncomprehendingly at the Lord of Blood, convinced that it must be playing it for a fool. Taking advantage of the opportunity, the Lord of Blood set down _the static orbits of the White-and-Gold_ , sweeping up the remaining tiles in one fell movement.

“Well played,” it admitted, and then, “I appreciate the warning. It will be taken care of.” It stood, turning to leave in a swish of fine fabric.

“Don’t underestimate her, dear. We have the life of the pharaoh in our hands and his wife still twists our arms. Perhaps the younger one?” The Lord of Blood gave the suggestion lightly, its back to its fellow Master as it returned the tiles to saltcedar shelves.

The Lord of Silks strode from the room without another word but something like a smile, sharp like a rack of knives, nearly graced its face.

**Author's Note:**

> Fallen London is © 2015 and ™ Failbetter Games Limited: www.fallenlondon.com. This is an unofficial fan work.


End file.
